


Check Your Tone

by fictive_frolic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Multi, Poly, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:56:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: When your feelings are hurt, the boys struggle to figure out how to fix it.





	1. Check Your Tone

“Darlin’ what are you doin’?” Bucky asks, watching you as you painstakingly apply glitter to your lips.

“Getting ready,” you say simply.

“Ready for what?” Steve asks, folding his arms. 

“Going out,” you answer, not looking at either one of them. You have a black dress that’s been calling you from the back of your closet and your favorite pair of “Come Fuck Me” pumps match it just the right way. If your boys are going to ignore you, you’re going to go out. 

“Who’re you going with?” Bucky said frowning. You shrug, “Just some friends from work. Me. Alaina, Jen, Probably Jordan.” Steve eyed your backside in your dress. It just kept getting shorter as you applied your makeup, leaned over the counter, standing on tiptoe. “Jordan?” Bucky growled. Bucky and Steve traded a look. They didn’t like Jordan. He was loud and abrasive. He flirted with you relentlessly. You whip around, makeup brush in hand, “Barnes, your dick isn’t big enough to talk to me like that. Check your tone.”

Steve and Bucky both took half a step back. It had been a long time since you’d been riled up enough to tell either of them off. At all. Let alone that bluntly.

“Baby,” Steve tried, reaching for you. “No,” you tell him calmly. You turn back around and tug your dress down on your thigh and adjusting your breasts just slightly. “What do you mean, no?” he asks. “I mean no,” you repeat, “You don’t get to ignore me for weeks then come up into my house and tell me what I can and can’t do.” You go to leave the bathroom and Bucky blocks your way, “As for you,” you tell him, “Your dick still isn’t big enough. Check yourself.”

They watch you go, wincing. That explained a lot, actually. You were hurt. Really hurt. They’d missed a lot of things in the last few weeks. They’d been together. You’d been stuck alone and worrying. There had been no contact. No messages. Nothing. You hadn’t known if they lived or died. You’d been so happy to see them, you’d cried. 

They had sprawled on the couch and vegetated for days. They hadn’t let you in. Talked to you. Let you take care of them. They’d fucked up. They’d fucked up bad. You’d told them you had anxiety. That there was body dysmorphia and depression. That sometimes those things were loud. That you needed reassurance sometimes. They hadn’t given you that. They’d wrapped around each other on your couch while you worked. 

When you come back around the corner, evening bag in hand and heels on. Hair falling in a riot of curls, fixed in place with a red bandana. You look like sex. The glitter on your lips makes them look sugar-coated and makes them long to taste you. “I ordered you pizza,” you tell them on the way out the door, “have a good night.” You don’t steal kisses. There’s no teasing. You don’t so much as look at either of them. Steve hates it. He follows you and calls down the hall, “When are you coming home?”

“When I feel like it,” you answer. 

The boys flinch. They’d not given you what you needed and hurt you. So now you were coping the best way you knew how. Seeking solace and going to drink until there was no more pain to feel. You were going to drink and dance. Come home reeking of second-hand smoke and perfume not your own. “Steve,” Bucky said after a long moment, watching you disappear down the stairs. “I know,” he said, “But if we follow her she’s just going to keep being mad.” They put their arms around each other. “We should know better,” Bucky said softly. Steve took a deep breath, “At least… I mean. At least she’s going out with friends.”

Bucky frowned and Steve heard the whirr of metal plates moving as Bucky’s fist clenched involuntarily. Bucky really did not like Jordan. Jordan tended to treat your relationship as fair game to hit on you. Touch you. He seemed to think that because you were in a relationship with two men and had a fondness for women, you were just a whore he could buy. Steve kissed his cheek, “It’ll be fine, Buck,” he said, “You know she didn’t invite him.” Bucky growls and Steve chuckles, “ C ‘ mon, you know it’ll be okay. She’s extra fucking feisty today.” Bucky takes a deep breath. He doesn’t like disharmony in the house. He doesn’t like when one of you is upset. 

Steve, he can handle. He had a lot more practice. But you? Knowing you’re hurt. Knowing he hurt you and you don’t feel like you can come to them for comfort. That’s killing him. It feels like a vacuum in his chest. They were supposed to be your safe place. A soft place to fall when the world was too hard. When work was hell and you felt like you weren’t enough. You were supposed to come home to your boys. Just like they came home to you. To home-cooked meals and binge-watching all the shows you promised not to watch without them. 

Bucky shakes his head and walks back into the apartment. “How are we gonna fix this, Stevie?” he asked, sprawling face down on the couch. Steve stroked his back gently, starting to knead the tension out gently. “I have a plan,” he said, “I think.” Bucky groans and relaxes into the touch, “What’s that?” he asked. 

“I think it’s time we make things a little more… concrete,” he said, “there’s probably some truth to diamonds being a girl’s best friend.” Bucky made a soft thoughtful sound, “She might like that but… she doesn’t wear much jewelry.” Steve snorted, “Only because she won’t usually let us spend money on her like that.” Bucky smiled a little, “That’s true… I always wanted pin-up pictures of her in nothing but some pricey jewelry and heels.” He sighed and stretched, starting to relax a little and Steve kisses the back of his neck, “Maybe for your birthday… She might do it if I take the pictures.” 

Bucky sighs, “In the morning we’ll go hunting while she sleeps it off. She’ll never know what hit her.” Steve nods, “Never. It’s going to fix all this and we’re never gonna let her walk out of here mad again.” 

_______

It’s 3am and the boys are still awake when you stagger through the door, swearing softly as you struggle with your heels. “Fuck shoes,” you grumble, “Fucking foot prisons.” The shoes hit the floor with two disjointed thuds and you throw your keys and your clutch in the bowl on the hall table carelessly. Steve couldn’t help but smile a little. All your carefully applied make up was still mostly in place but you had glitter fucking everywhere. You’d obviously been at a gay bar partying with some of the Queens you’d done make up for in your early days on the club circuit. You were very drunk and very tired. All the anger and adrenaline had long worn off only to be replaced by jager bombs and tequila. The Caffeine hadn’t lasted long in the face of all your sleepless nights. You don’t say another word. 

That’s how they know you’re still mad. You got a mouth, One big enough to tell Bucky his Dick ain’t big enough to talk to you a certain way. One big enough to tell Steve when he’s being an asshole and letting his ego get in the way. But when you’re mad. When you’re really mad, you don’t say a word. You simmer. Quietly. For the ex that had cheated on you and damn near given you herpes, it had culminated in your sending her a cake to work congratulating her on being a cunt. Usually you chewed on a problem until all the flavor was gone and acted according to whatever you had decided on. 

You leaned on the doorway of the kitchen. Sipping from your water bottle. Backlit by the kitchen light you looked feral and fierce. A tough girl. A street kid who clawed her way out of a pit and beat the odds. A woman who found a path and a family. The boys turn to look at you and for a second, they can’t breathe. You’re the best part about this century. Wild and free. They can’t imagine not knowing you. So when you open your mouth, they want to hear you tell them to tuck you in. They want to hear “I love you, lets go to bed.”

They don’t expect to hear, “I’m leaving tomorrow. My flight leaves at 9am.” 

“Leaving?” Bucky asks, bolting to his feet and over the back of the couch. “Where are you going, Sugar?” Steve asked. You shrug, “Dunno. I let Benny buy the tickets. All I know is I should probably pack shorts and my good sandals.” Steve reached for you and you took a step back, still guarded and prickly. Despite every fiber of your pickled being saying you needed to cuddle someone. Steve didn’t press and Bucky hung back further, not wanting to block you in. 

You were very drunk and your emotions were unsettled. Two large men. Even men you loved would probably agitate your fight or flight response. As angry as you were it wouldn’t surprise him if you got a little fighty. Not to hurt them but to get away. 

“When are you coming back?” Bucky asked softly. You shrug, not making eye contact with either one of them, “When the money runs out I guess. I mean. I own the Business. I can pretty much just fuck off. The bars doing fine. No one actually needs me here.” 

That stung. Knowing you were leaving because you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. They needed you. They wanted you. Seeing you now, trying not to cry. Watching you go to sleep on the day bed in the library instead of the bed you shared with them. 

The boys exchange a look and Steve rubs the back of his neck. You’ve never just left. Or voiced wanting to leave. You only got mad at them and went out for a while. Blew off some steam and came back. If not better at least… steady. But right now, you weren’t in check. You weren’t steady physically or emotionally. “I guess we have some more time to plan,” Steve said after a moment. 

“If she comes back,” Bucky said, “For all, we know she’s just going to land somewhere and send for her stuff.”

Steve winced, “She’s not gonna do that, Buck. She can’t. You know that. She loves us. She just. She needs some time.”

_________

The boys hadn’t been to bed when you came out of the bedroom with a hangover and your knapsack. You were traveling light which they supposed was good. Dressed for comfort. You kissed them both on the cheek and left. Not having said one word. Not about where you were going or if you’d miss them. The depression that had set in was like a cloud. You had an aura that was just lost and sad. They both knew it had all gone too far. That they should have said all the things they thought. That they should have made you stay home and fucked the anxious thoughts out of your head. 

When you’re gone, the apartment isn’t home. Not even with each other. It’s just where they sleep. Where they have sex to avoid the silence without you rattling around. Where they keep their stuff. 

They find solace in work. In being busy. They watch your social media. Pictures and stories from a white sand beach somewhere. Warm and beautiful. A whole new world away from Rainy, Cold, Grey, New York. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes really but it’s kind of nice to know that at least you’ve gone somewhere nice. Working on a tan and working your way through books. Learning to surf from an insanely attractive man. Day drinking in the sun. 

For two weeks, they plan. They try to figure out how to welcome you home. How to show you that they missed you. That they needed you. They need you to not leave like that again. 

______

When you come through the door, bag in hand, skin tanned and pretty. Still smelling slightly of coconut and salt. Everything is quiet. The lights are low and candles flicker in glass holders, clustered here and there. Enough to light your way. Enough to show you flower petals scattered all over the polished wood floors. “Boys?” you call, a little confused. 

You figured you’d come home to your stuff in boxes, packed for you to get out. You keep your steps quiet and you pad down the hall, cautious and a little scared. The bedroom door is slightly ajar and you push it open gently, “Boys?” you repeat. 

In the sweet halo of candlelight, they’re waiting, half-dressed and smiling a little. “We thought you were never coming home,” Steve said softly. “Yeah doll,” he said, “Next trip you take, we’re goin’.” 

When you start to tear up, they pull you close gently, kissing tears away. “We’re sorry, baby girl,” Bucky said softly, “God we missed you.” 

For a moment, as they pull your clothing off tenderly, undressing you to take you to bed, there’s nothing but roaming hands and hungry kisses. You whimper with want and they smile softly, “What do you need, baby?” Steve asked. “I need both of you,” you tell them. “Oh Christ, Baby,” Bucky said, “Yes. Please.” 

After that, there is no talking. They work you open with ease, applying lube liberally so that they can slide inside you easily. So they can sandwich you between them and fuck every negative thought out of your mind. Until your legs are shaking and you need one of them to carry you to the bath because they won’t hold you. They love it. The feel of you. Your soft cries and wanton fucking moans. By the end of it all, after they’ve spent inside you, they hold you tightly. 

They keep you sandwiched between them, murmuring praise and endearments against your skin. Lavishing attention on you until you’re blushing and stammering. 

“Darlin’, “ Bucky said softly, “You can’t leave me with Steve like that again. He was a winy little punk the whole time.” Steve snorted, “Me? Have you met you?” 

You giggle and Steve covers your face in kisses tenderly, “Not to mention Jordan was here like… 8 times looking for you.” You roll your eyes, “God. He’s worse than like… all of my clients when I was a stripper.” Bucky laughed and kissed your neck, “Another reason you can’t leave… You’re real good at cutting assholes down to size.” 

“And threatening them with broadswords when they try to rob your bar,” Steve added. 

You shrug elegantly, “You don’t need a permit for a broadsword, boys. Guns have too much paperwork.” Bucky slapped the swell of your ass fondly, “Real brains of the operation, Steve. What would we do without her?”

“Bucky, I never want to find out,” he murmured.


	2. Anti-Theft Device

“Nat, this isn’t going to be another Dive bar, is it?” Steve asked, getting out of the car. The Spy rolled her eyes, “No, you big baby. It’s a perfectly nice place. Great reviews on the internet.” Bucky snorts, “Oh, well. If the internet says so…” 

Nat sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “C ‘ mon. You guys are like 100 years old. But that doesn’t mean you have to sit at home all night and yell at Fox News.” Steve sighed, “Alright. Alright. Fine. We’ll have one drink. Even though we can’t actually get drunk.” 

Nat smiled and took his arm, “That’s what makes you the perfect designated driver,” she said standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. Steve’s cheeks colored and Bucky took his arm on the other side, chuckling softly.

She walked them down the sidewalk to a pretty little storefront. It was vintage-ish. All warm wood tones and brass. It had a sign above it and the name was painted on the window in old fashioned script “The Brass Bell”. It wasn’t in a bad part of town and when they walked inside the place smelled clean. Like pub food and alcohol. The boys looked around over Nat’s head, nodding tacit approval. Usually, a night out, out of the way meant dive bars and the very real risk of someone getting food poisoning. That didn’t seem like a risk here. 

The rest of the team was already sitting down, enjoying an array of drinks and food being served by the pretty girls behind the bar. One girl, in particular, caught Bucky’s eye first. She had a bright laugh and some killer tricks behind the bar, bottles sliding through her fingers with expert precision. He nudged Steve’s foot with his to get his attention and jerked his head slightly to indicate you without drawing attention to it. 

They had a rule about not hitting on girls at work. Especially in settings like this where they were paid to be nice. 

Still, as the night wore on, you’d come to check on their table a few times. Make sure they had what they needed. Talked for a minute before flitting away. They felt welcome without it being cloying. It was obvious you knew who they were. And also obvious you respected their privacy. When some fans kept getting closer and closer, making things awkward, you quietly had one of your girls relocate them to a V.I.P. room, reserved for parties and the like. It was nice.

You’d come back to run their bar and keep music playing. They were enjoying themselves immensely. Having the choice to interact, or not interact with fans was nice. Being a public personality could be difficult. It was nice to just… not. As the night wore on and the crowds drifted out to other trendier establishments with designer drugs and bottle service, the Team drifted back out towards the main room. Pool was played. Dancing was done. Everyone split up into their own little mini groups. Steve and Bucky played pool with Sam. It was nice. Quiet. 

A little before closing time, before the last call but after most people had called it quits. Steve and Bucky made their way to the bar. They figured a little conversation wouldn’t hurt. “Hey,” you greet them, expertly catching the bottle you’d just thrown. You were showing off, just a little, but you’d spent years acquiring this specific skill set. “Hey,” Bucky said, his mouth going dry as you slid him a pint and slid Steve a very pretty Manhattan. “Nice place,” Steve complimented, “Thank you for letting us take it over.” You shrug and laugh a little, “It’s a slow night and you guys have been tipping my girls pretty well. It’s not a big deal.” Bucky smiles a little, “Still. You didn’t have to rearrange everything for us.” 

“I know,” you say, “But I know how awkward it can be to have people not leave you alone. I had a similar thing when I was working clubs.” Steve smiled a little, “What’d you do in clubs?” 

“I was a stripper,” you tell them. It’s said blandly, without any hint of embarrassment. “Oh,” Steve said blushing. “Yeah, then she went Legit,” A girl, on with red hair that they’d learned was called Kate, joked as she passed. “Hey!” you protest, “I was always legit. I paid my taxes… So what if a bunch of people have seen my tits?” You shrug, “I walked out every night with their money. All they got was a memory.” Bucky snorted and you smirked. Steve was grappling with your revelation for a second. He didn’t… It didn’t bother him. Not if you had been treated well and hadn’t been coerced. It didn’t seem like you had. That Stripping had been a stepping stone. 

They chatted with you for a second, basking in the warmth of your smile. Basking in the comfort you just exuded. Sweet and Savory, with little bites of tartness just to keep it interesting. They liked you. You were beautiful. Smart. Sweetly funny. Definitely worth a revisit, the decision. 

They’d all be settling up tabs. Getting paid for and making sure no one had broken anything. Steve and Bucky had been finishing a round of pool with Clint. They missed the first bit. The one that had made Nat draw her gun and Thor pick up his hammer. But what they did see was you, crouched threateningly on the bar with a broadsword in your hand. 

You level it at the guys throat and he pales, dropping his pistol. “Not today, fucker,” you say. He bolts out of the bar and Clint sets off in pursuit to be able to hand the guy over to the cops. 

“Broadsword?” Tony asked smirking. You shrug, “I’m not very fond of guns… Had one to many of them pulled on me on the way home.” Nat snorted, “Fair enough. Anti theft broadsword it is.”


	3. Hard Choices

Bucky stood in the kitchen sipping his coffee and watching you talk on the phone on the balcony of the penthouse. They’d just moved you in. It hadn’t been long but the place already had little feminine touches that made it feel less like just a place to sleep. 

The modern lines and sleek furniture made homey with a few decorations and some throw pillows. It felt nice now, coming home after a long day. Like sinking into a bath when you were cold. 

Still, there were somethings you hadn’t permitted yet. They hadn’t yet met or even talked to your younger siblings. The ones you’d sued for guardianship of at 18. You protected them like they were your own kids. Even though they were grown now, Tommy was 20 and Kate has just started college this fall. They know you miss them. When you moved Kate into her dorm they didn’t see you for a few days and when they finally came over to check on you, you were a mess.

You’d started crying all over again. In the quiet with no one to take care of immediately in front of you, you’d been forced to deal with all the things you shoved aside. All the pain and all the hurt and frustration. The disappointment of all the dreams you had to give up so Tommy and Kate didn’t have to grow up as fast as you did. You’d told them everything. 

How you’d been in and out of foster care so many times that you knew exactly what the social worker’s knock sounded like. The official sounding click of their shoes on the sidewalk and the jangle of office keys on a lanyard. Your mom’s protestations that she wasn’t high while there was a pipe, still smoking in her hand. The night you’d all almost frozen to death in a van by the river. 

Your parents had just left you there with two-year-old Tommy and newborn Kate. What they’d done it for you didn’t remember but you’d all been so cold. At 8, you’d had to decide whether to freeze to death in the van or risk trying to find somewhere warm to sleep. So you took Tommy by the hand, put Kate bundled in your coat and started walking. You’d found a church. Someone had left the doors to the sanctuary unlocked. It was warm at least and you’d all collapsed into exhausted sleep in a back corner in a pew. Hungry and cold but too little and too tired to look for anything to eat. 

As you got older, you shouldered more of the brunt of managing finances. You dropped out at 15 and worked any job someone would give you. You didn’t know what else to do but keep social workers from sniffing around. Your parents were gone most of the time anyway, and that helped. No one on your block was going to report you as long as the three of you kept your heads down. You thought you’d been so smart, hoarding away enough money for a little apartment. Getting it all set in order and taking everything to an overworked judge. He’d granted you the custody of them and hardly looked at you. Or the kids. All clean and dressed well. Kate had been so sad that no one noticed her new hair bow. 

But money ran out and bills piled up. So when a girlfriend told you how much money she could make in clubs, it seemed like a way out. And it had been. You figured if men were constantly staring at your tits and trying to grab your ass you might as well make them pay for it. You got popular fast. Did some escort work from time to time and special appearances. Ran club nights all your own because you knew everyone who was anyone... And by 22 you bought a bar with the money you saved up. Another risk that paid off. It was putting the kids through school. Helping them get where they needed to go. Making sure they never needed to make hard choices.

______

After that, the boys had decided to keep you. Probably forever. You’d slept that night, sprawled on your stomach between them. You were wrung out and exhausted. Too numb and disoriented from the weight of the grief for all you’d given up to have sex. But they didn’t care. They never wanted you to have to make another choice like that. To feel like all you were was a body. To feel like you weren’t worth it.

_______

When you come in off the balcony, looking like you’re praying for patience because if God gives you the strength you’re gonna need bail, Bucky frowns. “What’s wrong, Doll? Kids acting up?” You snort, “Kate’s not coming home for Thanksgiving. I guess she and some friends are gonna go fuck around in Mexico. She saved enough of her allowance to buy the plane ticket.” You don’t say that it hurts. You don’t need to. Bucky wraps his arms around you gently and kisses the side of your head. “I’m sorry, baby, I know you miss them,” he murmurs. You swallow hard and take a deep breath, shaking your head, “Kate’s an adult. Aside from that, she should go do things. Maybe she’ll learn something.” Bucky smiles a little, “Babe, you can be mad about it. It’s okay.” You shrug and help yourself to coffee, “What good would it do? All it would do is start a fight. Katie will tell anyone who’ll listen that I’m just jealous. Tommy’ll get stuck in the middle and everyone will be miserable and still not speaking to one person or the other by Christmas... I’ll stick with passive-aggressive mom guilt and just make sure my boys all have a nice Thanksgiving.”

Steve paused at the kitchen door and looked from you to Bucky, “What’s he telling you to be mad about?” You shrug, “Kate’s going to Mexico with friends for Thanksgiving instead of coming home.” Steve frowned, “Why?” You shrug again, “I mean, when I was 18 I would have if I’d had the chance.” You sip your coffee, “Is Tommy still coming?” Steve asked, stealing a kiss from Bucky and slipping his arms around your waist. You nod, smiling a little, “He wants to make sure you’re treating me okay... Dunno what the fuck he thinks he gonna do if you’re not.” Steve smiled a little, “Well, we wouldn’t rough him up too bad.” You snort, “You’d have to get through me first, boys.”

______

Watching you behind the bar was always a treat. You flirted with them easily. They liked flirting back. Knowing that every male in that bar would kill to get the attention they were getting. Until one day, you stopped mid joke and froze for a second. “Tommy!” You bolt around the bar and half tackle your baby brother as the tall, lanky kid pulls you into a bone-crushing hug and swings you in a slow circle for a second. Bucky feels a pang, watching you fuss at him, adjusting his collar and telling him he’s gotten too skinny. Threatening to cheerfully beat him to death for not telling you he was coming so you could have his bed made up and food waiting. The poor kid just looks so relieved to be home. He thuds his head into your shoulder and sighs. 

Bucky knows his sisters have been dead for years. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wonder if his sisters would have greeted him like that. It made his miss the sisterly fussing. The teasing. Steve kisses the side of his head and squeezes his hand, “You okay?” he asked softly, “Still with us?” Bucky nodded, smiling a little, “Yeah,” he said, “Just wishing I could have introduced Y/N to Rebecca.” Steve smiled a little, “They would have got on like a house on fire,” he said. Bucky smiled a little, watching you card your fingers through Tommy’s hair, telling him he needs a haircut. “Yeah,” he said softly. When You turn, Tommy is towering over you, his arm around your shoulder and your arm around his waist, still fussing. Telling one of the girls to put an order for him in, in the kitchen. His favorite thing on the menu. 

Steve and Bucky both get a handshake and a smile when you introduce them. He looks like you. Same soft hair. Same wide eyes. Same nose and cheekbones. His dimples when he smiles are different and he’s taller. Lanky. Could fall through a crack in the floor if he stands sideways. But they can see he loves you. You’re his mom even if you didn’t give birth to him. You get your boys settled with food and something to drink before going back behind the bar. Once you’re out of ear shot, Tommy leans back in his chair and watches them both, “Don’t hurt her,” he says after a long moment. It isn’t a threat. But the promise is clear. If they hurt you he will find a way to hurt them back.” Steve smiles a little. He already likes Tommy. He has a soft spot for scrappy kids. “Son,” he starts, making Tommy twitch an eyebrow. Bucky smirks. He’s seen that look. When Steve had accidentally assumed he’d gone over your head discussing something and tried to dumb it down. It reminded him irresistibly of a tripwire. One wrong move and all hell is gonna break lose. “We’re not going to hurt her,” Bucky said, “Not on purpose.” Tommy nodded, accepting that for the moment. Bucky wondered if you’d ever introduced him to anyone you were in a relationship with. He knew actual relationships were few and far between. 

“So,” Steve said, “How long are you going to stay?” Tommy shrugged, “Just until the day after Thanksgiving... I came early because I found a flight with a stopover to try and get Katie to come home.” Steve nodded, good kid. He assessed. Really good kid. “No dice,” he sighed, “she’s... She’s mostly not happy about Y/N being with both of you. And still running club promotions... It’s not classy enough, she says,” he rolled his eyes. “Like... don’t tell Y/N that? Please? She’d be fucking heartbroken.” He looked towards you and winced reflexively. “How do you feel about it?” Bucky asked. Tommy snorted, “She’s a grown adult. I don’t pay her bills. She can do whatever the fuck she wants.”

Steve smiled a little and nodded. “She gave up enough for us,” Tommy said, “She was on track for a full ride to college. She could have just left us to rot but she didn’t.” He took a deep breath, “I can’t. There’s no way I could ever pay her back for what she did. How hard she tried even when I was an asshole.” He shrugged, “As long as she’s happy that’s all I care about.”

After Tommy had eaten and had some time to get his bearing again, he rolled up his sleeves and started bussing tables. Mostly, he told you when you fussed at him, it was because he was really fucking bored. Really, Tommy told Steve later in the back, it was because he felt like he should. You busted your ass for years to make sure he could have everything he needed. The least he could do was help out when he was home. Aside from that, he’d added, it was a way to spend time with you while you were working. 

Steve and Bucky watched with interest as the pair of you crisscrossed over each other easily. Part of it was practice and part of it was just intuitive. It was fun, listening to the two of you bicker back and forth over the bar. Adding to the din and bringing in tips for being entertaining. 

________

Thanksgiving was quiet. Tommy helped in the kitchen. Mostly by being in the way. He taste-tested everything, whether you wanted him to or not and drove you to distraction, “Thomas Alexander,” you said sternly, smacking the back of his hand, “If you don’t quit it I’m gonna stab you.” Tommy only smiled and cheerfully snagged another cookie. He’d missed your cooking. And irritating you. 

Bucky smiled a little and leaned on the counter. It felt so achingly familiar, watching this scene that his chest hurt a little bit. He didn’t know if he should help you or help Tommy. He settled for being somewhere in between and stole a kiss that left you distracted and a little dizzy, “You can’t stab him. You promised me there’d be no ER trips if I let you cook,” he rumbled. 

Tommy looked away, a little uncomfortable. He really didn’t like having certain images in his head and anything pertaining to your sex life was one of those things. 

“That was one time!” you protest. 

“And it looked like a crime scene in here,” Bucky countered, “Seriously. One little cut. I didn’t know you could bleed that much needing three stitches.”

“Well, it’s not my fault you and Steve both go beast mode on can openers. and we need a new one every 6 weeks.” you pout. 

Tommy snorted, “Sis, remember that one time we got Dr. Pepper on the ceiling when that one can exploded?” You look around Bucky and smile a little, “Did mom ever figure out what it was?” Tommy grins and shakes his head, “Nope. Not a clue. Every time I go over there she mentions it though.” 

“You still see your parents?” Steve asked confused. Tommy shrugs, “I mean yeah. Ronnie and Joe are fucked up but like... They’re still my parents. Kinda. On paper.” You turn back to the stove quickly pretending something needs to be stirred so none of them can see the emotions on your face. “They like to say Y/N ‘stole us’ but like... It’s not like they were raising us.”


End file.
